


Protect Me From What I Want

by little_abyss



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, Desire Demons (Dragon Age), Dream Sex, Fade Dreams, M/M, Multi, Sexual Content, Wishes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-31
Updated: 2016-05-31
Packaged: 2018-07-11 08:52:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,873
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7041496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/little_abyss/pseuds/little_abyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Hawke dreams, he is shown what might be.  But sometimes, dreams are dangerous.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protect Me From What I Want

**Author's Note:**

> Heh, rediscovered this in my little treasure trove, and what better work to be my fiftieth inclusion into AO3 (!?!!). It's had a bit of a fix-up since it first appeared on Tumblr during Fenhanders Week 2016, but everything is still roughly the same - I can't believe I forgot about this one until now!

When he dreams, it’s always black and white.  Spiders, sometimes, the nest that fell from the hayloft in Lothering, but bigger, covering him, in his mouth, in his hair.  Sometimes Bethany, screaming, then not.  Sometimes Carver, drowning in black blood, nobody there to save him.  Hawke will watch as Carver mouths the words, _help me_ _please_ , but he can do nothing.  He was meant to keep him safe; he was meant to keep everyone safe.  But in the end, he couldn’t help them, couldn’t save them.  In the end, he cannot even help himself.

 

But these dreams are in colour, always lush with light, sound and texture.  And that is how Hawke knows it is not real, and he knows he should resist.  But these demons, they’ve known him for a long time, longer than anyone else, and know his weaknesses.  The strongest of them smiles at him, and blinks bright emerald eyes in the gloaming of the Fade.  “I want you,” it whispers, using Fenris’ tones as it twines the dark cords of Hawke’s hair in its long fingers, it’s full, satiny lips a breath away from his own.  “I know you love him, but you love me too.  So come to me.  He will come.  We can make a life together, the three of us.  We can make each other happy.”  

 

He knows it is lies.  But as the face the demon wears flickers - now deep brown, traced with white lines, now cream and careworn, with a flash of monstrous violet in between - he considers.  He wants too, wants it desperately, he wants them to be true, these words.  “Love,” the demon tells him, now in Anders’ voice, “My love, my loves, we can build a new world together.  A world for just us three, solid and real, free of fear.  Together, we could be so happy.  Together, we could be safe.”

“Safe,” Hawke murmurs, and wraps his hands more firmly about the demon’s waist.  “Happy.”

“That’s it, love.  You want this, you  _ need _ this.  We three, we three,” the demon croons, and Hawke feels talons trace lightly over his shoulder blades as the second demon approaches - perhaps summoned at the behest of the first, perhaps by the strength of his desire.  But oh, oh, it feels so right, so good as Fenris’ voice whispers in his ear, “Be ours, Hawke.  You will be mine, and I will be his, and he will be yours.  Be ours.”

 

_ Why shouldn’t I? _ he thinks, and wonders if he is lost.  The demons seem to sense his weakness - he feels the one in Anders’ form tighten its grip as the one which would be Fenris writhes against his hip and snarls delicately into his ear.  Hawke feels his heart flutter, a bird in a cage, and he glances up, away from the bright amber ringed in lilac of the demon-Anders’ eyes.  He pulls with his mind, watching as the false sky flickers and changes into

time slips

 

A quiet laugh in his ear in the dark.  Hot, moist breath gusting gently over the shell, and then Anders laughs again.  “Love,” he says, “Wake up, love.”

“Hmm?  What is it?”  Hawke cracks his eyes open, the sunlight trickles through gaps in the curtains, and he blinks lazily, stretches.  The bed is warm and wide, and his cock aches with want.  But the day is still new, and there is time.  It feels so wanton, so luxurious, to have all this time stretched out in front of them.  

 

“This,” Anders says, and kisses him.  Hawke smiles, the warmth of Anders’ skin, the feel of his hand on Hawke’s chest as it rises and falls, the rising rhythm of his heartbeat.  This kiss deepens, and Hawke groans a little when he feels Anders’ stiff cock pressed against his thigh.  Anders smiles against his lips and breaks the kiss, sitting up a little and studying Hawke intently.  His eyes have a peculiar violet cast in the light of the early morning, filtering greenish through the thick velvet of the closed drapes, and it’s something Hawke cannot remember seeing before.  But he discounts it, smiling, and says, “Oh.  That.  I do like that.”

 

“What is it you like?” a voice asks at Hawke’s back, and Fenris rises, curling lithely, propping himself up on one elbow.  He smiles coyly, looking at Anders, and then the smile broadens, and for a moment, his teeth are fangs, vicious spikes.  But then the image is gone - a trick of the light, nothing more, Hawke is sure.  “I was just demonstrating something for our beloved,” Anders smiles.   Fenris narrows his eyes, then shifts slightly.  And the gesture is so  _ Fenris _ , who never seems able to be still, never completely comfortable that somehow, it soothes Hawke [ _ no, no, don’t let them don’t let them fool you _ ].  “Come here,” Fenris says, and his smirk broadens again.  “Perhaps I can help you demonstrate.  Let me help you.”

 

“Would you?” Anders asks, and leans over Hawke’s torso.   For the first time it seems, Hawke is deeply aware of the warmth of their bodies in this bed; of the fact that they are bare, skin to skin beneath the blankets.  

 

Fenris watches Hawke closely for a moment, then his smile twists into a lascivious smirk.  He sits up further, and puts his hands on either side of Anders’ neck, underneath the jaw.  Anders smiles knowingly at him, watching, as Fenris moves his mouth over the surface of Anders’ skin, their mouths a fractional distance to each other.  Anders parts his lips in anticipation, then when Fenris only brushes their lips together, makes a reedy noise of protest.  Fenris does it again, and Anders murmurs, “Don’t tease.”  Fenris chuckles, and obliges Anders with a deeper kiss, their mouths opening to each other, at first slowly, then with increased desire.  Hawke watches the deepening rise and fall of Fenris’ chest, watches Ander’s hand move across his own body and then caress gently along Fenris’ back.  When Anders moves his mouth, kissing down the line of Fenris’ neck, Fenris opens his eyes momentarily, looking at Hawke.  He smiles again, that slow, delicious curl of lip, then his head lolls back as he closes his eyes, revelling in the sensation.  Anders chuckles, opening his eyes to peer at Hawke, making a show of licking a long stripe up Fenris’ skin, toward the base of his jaw.  Then he grins, and raises his eyebrows.  “How are you down there?”  

Hawke swallows, and clears his throat.  “Don’t stop on my account.  Very happy with how the show is proceeding so far.”

 

Fenris snorts.  “Anders,” he says, and when Anders looks at him again, he pushes him gently back, crawling over Hawke’s body to do so.  Hawke gasps at the friction against his cock, and turns his head as Anders laughs. Fenris has straddled his hips and the blankets, oh, the blankets have been shifted down and off.  Fenris’ markings are luminous in the low light, his hair all veilfire in that strange green glow through the windows.  He looks down at Anders, still smiling, then his eyes shift to Hawke as he brings his hand to his mouth and spits into the palm.  Hawke takes a deep breath, feeling his cock twitch, and shifts slightly, so that he is lying on his side, his head propped up on his hand, able to watch.  This brings his hips flush with Fenris’ thigh, and he drapes one leg over the top of Anders’ and grins down at him.  Anders smiles back, those golden [ _ no they’re purple, purple, can’t you see it? _ ] eyes bright in the half-light, and he mutters, “Kiss me.”

 

Hawke smiles, and does as he’s been asked.  Anders’ lips are soft beneath his own, yielding.  He feels the slow smile spread over them, and then an intake of breath, just before Hawke slips his tongue into Anders’ mouth.  His hands, his fingers, everything is soft silk [ _ something is wrong here! _ ] and he touches gently, feels Anders’ body arch up, responding to whatever Fenris is doing.  Fenris makes a long, low sound, and Hawke breaks the kiss to look, sees Fenris with his own and Anders’ cocks both in his hands, slowly thrusting his hips forward.  His chin on his chest, white hair shining, the points of his ears turning the most delicate shade of 

time slips

 

like the little legs, flailing beneath short trousers as the child runs away from them, laughing. The dog prances about it, and they hurl the stick for it, shrieking with laughter.  “Not too far, darling,” Anders says, and Hawke smiles.  Fenris slips an arm through his as they walk, the unmown grass of the orchard redolent with the new-growth smell of spring, the blossoms of the apple trees falling like snow as the child runs, the leaves turning the light green [ _ green light? no, no that’s not right where are we?  who is that?  maker, wake up, just wake up now _ ].  The dog fetches the stick and trots back to the child, meekly laying it at the tiny feet.  Anders chuckles, and Hawke turns to him, seeing the brightness of his eyes and that wistful smile as Anders asks him, “Isn’t this everything you wanted?”

 

Fenris squeezes his arm, and lays his head on Hawke’s shoulder as they walk.  The long grass brushes against Hawke’s calves, and birds sing sweetly overhead in the branches of the apple trees.  The feel of the grass is so cool on his feet, and he feels so loved, so

time slips again

 

Fenris’ cock is oh, it fills him and Maker it is so good, so, so very.  He feels the cold dampness of the slick on his inner thighs, but it’s nothing to the thick, hot feel of Fenris inside him.  He hears Anders’ laughter, from somewhere above, but it sounds strange [ _ something is wrong, wake up WAKE UP _ ], and then his nose is full of the smell of Anders, the rough red gold hair around his cock, it’s in his nose and those words, “Open, oh, open up for me, love,” and he does, he’s powerless not to, but it’s, Maker, he’s never done that before just thrust all in like that, and fuck, that laughter it’s  _ cold _ , so  _ cold  _ and

 

W  A  K E   oH wake upwakeup W  Ak E uP WAKEUPWAKE UP!

  
Hawke awakes to the sound of his own voice.  He shivers, runs a hand through his damp hair in the cold blue-white light of dawn, and then touches his face.  It is wet, and he rubs his eyes, pressing both fists into the sockets in a gesture Leandra alone would recognise.   _ Make it stop _ , he thinks,  _ when will this leave me alone _ ?  But he knows in his heart of hearts, it is too deep, too much inside him, this wanting.  It is not just sex - not any more.  He wants something that has no name to him, has no voice, and he wonders if it would be better to try at least, try to get them to understand, or if it is his fate to simply go mad with this desperate need still unspoken.  He sniffs, bringing his knees to his chest underneath the blankets, and waits.  


End file.
